Mollys Migration
by Rosaroma
Summary: In which John becomes infuriated by Sherlocks obliviousness.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 **Lost & Found**

John shrugged his coat off as he came through the front door. 'She's leaving.' The afternoon light lit Sherlock's silhouette against the window.

Sherlock knew he was speaking of Molly, but couldn't recall where she could be going, 'Ailing grandmother?' He looked out at the street with disinterest.

'Nope.' John's widened his eyes. 'The…country. For the foreseeable future.'

'No.' Sherlock clenched his jaw as fast as he could. He had involuntarily expelled to much feeling in that one word.

'I mean, she would have mentioned a trip over seas.' He said turning and bracing his hands on the chair back.

John watched Sherlock's white knuckled fingers on the back of the chair. 'She _did_ mention it.'

Sherlock stared back vacantly, to which John gave a pointed look.

'At dinner the other night, she announced she was leaving.' John sighed. 'You didn't react…to congratulate her or otherwise.'

John stamped his foot, 'Sherlock, she cried!'

 _How had this happened? He hadn't been paying attention at social gatherings as a rule in general, but Molly's whereabouts were necessary for work and she was his friend. Why hadn't she told him?_

'When does she go?' he asked grabbing his coat from the hook.

John reached for Sherlock's arm, 'Don't stop her. She needs this, she needs to go.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked at John. He pulled his arm free and headed for the door.

'She's leaving in a couple of days,' John said as he started to tidy the newspapers covering the chairs.

 _One week later_

Molly tied her hair up in the heavy heat and shuffled her toes around in the flip flops she'd bought. She was used to wearing stiff closed shoes at the lab. These were quite the change of pace, literally. Molly giggled to herself and took a deep breath for courage.

Not speaking the language wouldn't kill her, so she set off in search of lunch. Nothing here reminded her of Sherlock and it was a welcome reprieve. Picking up two seaweed wraps and a bubble tea she went to the counter and handed over a wad of notes. The cashier gave back most of the money and then counted out the actual change she needed. She smiled embarrassed and scurried away at the soonest moment. She would definitely need to work out the currency exchange sooner rather than later, not everyone would be kind enough to give it back.

Opening the seaweed wrap and sipping on her bubble tea, Molly nearly choked when something caught her eye. From her seat in the window of the convenience store she saw a reminder that couldn't be truer to life. Across the street was a man so tall and with such mad curly hair that she did a double take. Only when he turned in her direction did she know for well and true that Sherlock had followed her across the world.

Sherlock observed Molly nearly fall from her chair as she spotted him. He smirked in a satisfied mood and made to cross the road only to be nearly taken down by a speeding scooter.

'Good grief!' he didn't care for the roads here, though in a way they reminded him of London. He ran a hand through his hair to calm it and walked to the entrance.

The doors slid open to reveal Molly Hooper in a red dress and nearly bare feet. Her hair was tied back, much like when she was at work, but there was a giddy glow to her face that was only present when she worked on the more interesting cadavers. Sherlock observed that Molly Hooper was having fun.

'Molly,' he said, containing all his thoughts into that one statement.

'Sherlock,' she laughed, not her usual awkward laugh. Because somehow his coming here made her more confident. 'What are you doing here?'

He took a step closer and found that it was the best position he'd be in all day, they were directly below the air conditioning vent. Additionally he could look more closely into her eyes from this proximity.

'Your smart Molly. Why do you think I'm here?'

She pressed her lips together and appeared to think for a moment. 'Work I suppose?' she wasn't going to give in that easily. She wouldn't make a fool of herself, not now.

Sherlock quirked a brow, 'Ah yes, Scotland Yard regularly has cases that require their only consultant detective to go directly to South East Asia in the age of video calls.'

Molly just shrugged, not wanting to try and speak out loud the question she'd had on the tip of her tongue. _Did you come here for me?_

Sherlock gestured that they should walk and talk.

Molly moved in the direction he'd suggested but felt his hand cover hers. She stopped. Stopped walking, stopped breathing for a moment or two. Her cheeks heated to such a degree that she felt they would fall off her face.

His fingers laced with hers, 'You could say that I came here for my pathologist.' Molly humphed. 'My friend.' She smiled sadly but nodded seeing that this wasn't what she'd hoped. She was so genuinely glad to have him as a friend, and to see him right now. Her eyes felt glassy and she tried not to cry.

'For more than either of those things,' he said leaning down, close enough to feel the air move as she fluttered her eyelashes in surprise.

'You left,' he said in an accusatory tone. 'However I am staying.'

Molly felt a whole host of fireworks and butterflies, possibly butterflies on fire explode in her upper chest. He pulled away and started to walk in some vague direction. Molly had to walk twice as many steps as Sherlock to keep up but she quickly gained a skip in her step in bewilderment and joy to keep up with him.

Sherlock's chest thundered as he held on for dear life to her tiny hand. This butterfly of his had fluttered out of England and travelled thousands of miles to this hottest of places. He'd told her he would stay, and as long as she was here so would he be. Not to control her, but to watch her happiness unfold, and to be a part of it.

* * *

 _AN: It's been a while since I've written anything. Review?_

 _Oneshot or more?_


	2. Groceries

Enjoy.

* * *

Molly watched as Sherlock threw ever more furnishings into her trolley. Bedding, a bath mat, corded telephone...she'd have to ask about that last one. Sherlock was making himself at home. She wanted to point out that she didn't have a car and how on earth would they get this back to her apartment? And was he staying in her apartment?

Sherlock waved a red towel in front of her face. 'The colour of blood. Don't you think? Molly?' She'd zoned out completely.

She appraised the towel and nodded quizzically. 'Yes, I suppose it is.' He popped it into the trolley. Was it normal for a friend to follow you to the far side of planet earth? Had Sherlock ever been considered normal? Molly's new mobile buzzed.

 _I'll be in touch. - Mycroft_

Molly would have dropped her phone, but then it wasn't the first time Mycroft had acquired a private number, or the first time he'd asked for her help with his little brother.

It became apparent Sherlock had acquired lodgings above an Irish bar. Trust Sherlock to find the closest thing to England in Asia, second only to living in the embassy. And that wouldn't have agreed with Sherlock's bending of the law.

'A fellow named Peng lives there and runs the Irish pub downstairs,' Sherlock said smiling in a satisfied manner. He was pleased with his new arrangement. Molly wished she could say the same. Her flat was in a large nondescript block of identical doors and barred windows. Her neighbours scurried away whenever she exited the elevator or wanted to ask how to use the dryer. She felt like an outsider. Even in London the old lady at number 33 would smile and say good morning and occasionally ask her to cat sit.

She was so so overjoyed that Sherlock was here. She felt she rather needed a friend right now.

A painful hour on the metro system, that would have been otherwise pleasant if not for the tons of shopping, and Molly sort of wished he'd stayed in England. But only sort of.

"Sherlock what are you even going to do here?" Molly asked a little exasperated.

"Solve crimes. Honestly Molly is that not obvious?" He signalled a taxi to take them the rest of the way.

'But-but you don't speak Chinese?" At least he wouldn't be sitting in the apartment shooting walls. Did he speak Chinese? She passed him some bags.

'I will, soon enough. I've signed up for a class.' He started putting the things into the taxi. 'You were planning to learn I assume? I can never understand people who travel without learning the language. Might as well leave your brain at home.' It made her laugh, but just for the brain jokes they'd had over the years.

'Yes, I was.' She climbed into the backseat and Sherlock showed the address on his phone screen to the driver.

'The police force might not be so interested in hiring a consulting detective here.'

Sherlock humphed. 'I'm about to solve one of their oldest cases and trust me it needs solving.' Molly had all kinds of fears in life, but that Sherlock would land on his feet…usually that wasn't something she worried about. His heroin addiction gave her pause. But if she was here maybe he would resist temptation. They needed to find a local drugstore and stock up in Nicotine patches asap.


End file.
